


Artificial

by TheTruthofMasks



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda?, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, intimate hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTruthofMasks/pseuds/TheTruthofMasks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is now living with Steve and is trying to settle into his new life beyond the Winter Soldier. He's still afraid of the repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artificial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thethirdmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethirdmuse/gifts).



> I wrote this for a good friend (like the most amazing chick ever) as a fic-exchange. Meh

Everything had been going relatively well between Steve and Bucky. As for the nights, Bucky’s dreams still persisted, but the fact that Steve had taken to comforting him made them slightly more bearable; nonetheless, they still wounded him in a way that could not be healed easily. He would awake after a fitful sleep in the morning engulfed in Steve’s bulk and metal imprints on his chest. The red outlines on his torso reminded him of what he was and even when Steve gently traced them with his fingertips (laughing softly as if he wasn’t remembering the power behind the metal) it was not enough to make him forget what he had done. He could never be the Bucky he was. Could never go back to the confident relaxed Bucky Barnes and he hated that. He hated the fact that at any moment, his rage could kill his best friend and hated that Steve trusted him.

The irony of his situation was not lost on him. He could vaguely recall inviting Steve, young, gawky, awkward Steve, into his own rinky-dink apartment and tending to him, especially after the death of his mother. For him to dream about the old Steve and then to wake up to the new one was a bit of a weird experience for Bucky. It was also strange that Steve had taken it upon himself to teach Bucky all about the modern era. He learned about everything from microwave dinners to the newest gaming system (something that still confused Steve immensely). He was also introduced to the 21at century television. Baseball games were now more accessible to the both of them, and it had become a sort of ritual for the both of them to watch the Yankee games. Bucky was always careful to sit on Steve’s left side so that his metal arm was not near him. That way when their team scored, and Steve felt the need to lightly smack his arm in excitement, he wouldn’t feel the harsh metal and be painfully reminded of what happened.

One day it all got too much. The world seemed to be sending painful mementos to what had happened. Bucky woke up to find out that Steve had been sleeping so close to him that he had the red webbing etched onto his skin, bearing the marks instead of him. Bucky hurriedly got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. He opened a drawer, looking for a spatula so he could surprise Steve with breakfast. Instead of harmless cookware, he opened the wrong drawer and was met with sharp cutting knifes. Bucky felt sick to his stomach and slammed the drawer shut, terrified that he would revert to his old ways. Then when he was eating an apple for breakfast once Steve had woken up (oblivious to the markings on his chest), he unintentionally grabbed it with his prosthetic fingers. Not knowing the strength he had, Bucky accidentally squeezed the life out of the fruit, causing pieces of apple to splatter all over the table and the juices to run down the artificial flesh. He could not feel any of it. He just stared at the mangled meat of apple, unable to fully comprehend what just happened. 

Then he cracked. Everything just came out in one primal scream. Now that he did not have the wall of brainwashing to shield him from what he was doing, it all came out. The apple was now a human head, the juice blood. He stood quickly, pushing the chair over and pulling at the metal, wishing he had the same strength in his right arm so he could rip the thing off. He’d rather be a cripple than have this machinery and the memories attached. He shouted and continued to claw at it. He had all but forgotten Steve, so when he felt the younger man’s large hand on his shoulder, right where artificial met original, he let his instincts take over. In a fit of hysteria, he swung his metal weapon with as much force as he could muster. Right before it hit Steve’s unflinching face, he stopped. Flashes of Steve’s bloodied and bruised face. Flashes of what if. What if he had not rescued Steve, what if he had died? What if he had completed his mission? He could feel Steve’s hands cupping his face, wiping away tears before he could feel himself crying. He had not cried in 80 years. When he showed no signs of calming down, Steve wordlessly nudged him up onto the counter. 

The blonde carefully raked his fingers through Bucky’s unruly hair with a pensive look. “I think it’s time to cut your hair again Buck.” Steve pulled out a pair of scissors from the drawer and set to work, soothingly massaging his friend’s scalp before cutting the strands with the utmost care, a direct contrast to his pure muscle appearance. Bucky sat there and felt embarrassed for his outburst and was thankful that Steve seemed to already have pushed it out of his mind.

No words were spoken between the two. When Steve finished, he brushed the stray hairs off of Bucky. He took special care to make sure that no strands were caught between the chinks in Bucky’s arm. “This,” he started carefully, “is a part of you now Bucky.” Steve ran the pads of his fingers over the rugged scar tissue at the joining point, “There’s nothing you can do but learn how to deal with it,” he pressed their foreheads together tenderly, “And I’ll be here the entire way to help you along. We’ll learn together.”

Bucky nodded and placed his normal hand on Steve’s neck, keeping the intimate contact. He felt safe and for once hopeful. Maybe with Steve’s help he could learn to live with what he’s done. He’d never forget what happened, but it didn’t seem as impossible now for him to create a new life.

Bucky learned a lot more than how to just deal with his past. He learned to not flinch away when Steve touched his arm. He learned how to make a microwave meal. He learned that he could look at Steve as more than a friend. He learned there was no shame in being protected for once rather being the protector. He learned that if he pressed his lips to Steve’s hairline, right behind his left ear, the other man would make the most satisfying noise from the back of his throat. 

He learned that he could be gentle. He could feel compassion. He could feel more than anger and hatred. He could hold a knife and not end someone’s life. He could love.

Most importantly, Steve taught him that there was hope for a future.


End file.
